What Am I Doing?

What am I doing?  Why I am prepping for a colonoscopy in the morning.  It’s 5:50 p.m. as I begin typing and I’m about to down my 3rd glass of PEG 3350, affectionately known as anti-freeze.  UGH.  Hold on, I’ll be back. 

That was awful.  I have a long way to go.  This is my first time with this prep, my 4th colonoscopy.  Yes, it’s an unusual post for me; it’s a rather personal thing AND it has nothing to do with art or my dogs.  I figured if I have to be miserable, why not whine to the world while going through this ridiculously awful moment. 

On a serious note, though, I’m really sharing this because I believe this procedure saves lives and I’m sure it will save mine.  My grandfather died of colon cancer and my mother was a colon cancer survivor. (she died of heart failure, cancer-free.) Lucky me, I’m the child that inherited that special set of genetic code, so I go through this every 5 years. Better than cancer or dying from something easily preventible. 

But for crying out loud, anti-freeze?!  Really, I’m sitting here typing, shaking like crazy and COLD!  The least this prep could do for me is give me warmth.  Oh, that’s just my body rebelling at being given poison in order to save my life.  I know, so dramatic but I told you I was going to share my misery.  

There are other preps out there and since I’m new to this doctor, I don’t remember what I took before, but it WASN’T this crap!!  big sigh.  My other preps weren’t fun, but I didn’t have to drink a glass every ten minutes.  Right now I’d give anything to go back a day and say, “Um no, I don’t think I want the prep that takes the longest to deal with.  I’ll take the short version, thank you.”

So, back to colon cancer.  My mother ignored the symptoms until she couldn’t any longer and discovered hers at the age of 70 when she finally went to a doctor.  By then, unfortunately she had a stage 2 (I think) cancer and lost a part of her bowel.  To maintain her dignity, I won’t go into those details, but I will tell you what she did that remains with me forever.  

But first, I must “take a break.”  Back in a bit. 

ohmygodthatisnastytasting. yuk. 

Upon learning she had cancer my mother went to the library and picked up all the books she could find on cancer and treatment. She had stacks of books on her coffee table for days.  Finally she decided she would have surgery, but there would be no chemotherapy, no radiation.  She based her decision on her research and nothing her children or doctors said made her change her mind.  She said she’d rather have a short period of quality time left, than a long life of damaged organs and illness. Her doctors were very skeptical and did not agree, but they supported her right to choose her treatment.  Kudos to those wonderful surgeons and physicians.  

Mom’s surgery took much of an afternoon.  We were worried and the doctor came out to inform us that he could not get all of the cancer, due to inflammation and the extent of the growth.  Fast-forward to a year later, Mom had her second surgery and all of the cancer was removed.  She showed no signs of cancer anywhere else in her body and she lived another 13 years and remained cancer free the entire time.  

I think, no, I KNOW my mother made the right decision for her.  I would not necessarily recommend it for everyone, but she researched the type of cancer she had, the effects of radiation and chemotherapy, and she decided this was the best course for the cancer she had and for her mental well-being.  If ever I do have colon cancer, I will do the same.  But not all cancers are alike, and each responds to different therapies.  Most importantly, I was in awe of how my mother took charge of her own body and cure.  She never backed down or let anyone talk her out of her choice.  For her, there is no question it was key to her long survival. 

I think tomorrow when I see the doctor, I’m going to be sure and use the terms “cruel” and “unusual” during the course of our conversation. 

In spite of my sarcasm and descriptions, I highly recommend anyone putting off this procedure get it done.  The procedure itself is quick and low-risk.  It isn’t embarrassing; you’ll be under sedation and everyone else there is doing the same.  The prep is another story, but you will survive it, as will I. 

It’s nearly 7 p.m. now and I am barely down to 1/2 of the jug.  It’s going to be a long night.  I’m planning on it being a long life.  And thanks for listening.  Doing this post helped me get through the first few hours.  Hmmm, wonder who I'll whine to for the next few?